


Purification

by Quillpaw



Category: OFF (Game), Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-23
Updated: 2013-07-23
Packaged: 2017-12-21 02:35:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/894790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quillpaw/pseuds/Quillpaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As usual, something is a little Off in Night Vale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Purification

The sea, beating endlessly against the shore. The calm, soothing, neverending sounds of liquid plastic, and meat, flowing ceaselessly in the cycles of moonless tides. Welcome, to Night Vale.

Hello, listeners. Tonight, we go straight to the news. There have been reports of the sounds of an ongoing baseball game coming from the stadium- of a bat striking something, and the murmur of an appreciative crowd. Of course, the stadium is closed for three hundred and sixty-four days of the year, and Night Vale does not have any professional sports teams.  
A few citizens, who the Sheriff's secret police insist remain unnamed, entered the stadium and discovered not a baseball game, but a single man, dressed in an unmarked baseball uniform, along with three large, glowing rings that hovered about his shoulders. The man referred to himself only as 'The Batter', and claimed that he had come to Night Vale on a holy mission. He said that he is going to purify the world.  
Well, such a goal is truly noble indeed, and all of Night Vale should wish him the best of luck in his endeavors.

A merchant has appeared in town recently. By appeared, I mean that he simply seemed to come into existence, and was not seen arriving in any sort of vehicle. He does not have a stand of any kind set up, but merely waits on street corners and in front of hubs of activity, waiting patiently to be approached. Just this morning, he was waiting outside of the studio, and was kind enough to offer me a free sample of his wares. He didn't ask for any sort of sponsoring or advertising, but, personally, I feel that he deserves some for this. He claims to be selling luck, and fortune. They come in small tickets, made of what appears to be sturdy, reflective gold paper with the word 'luck' printed on it. When used, the ticket leaves the user feeling restored and invigorated, like a full night's rest and a good cup of coffee all packaged in a slip of paper. If you're interested, keep an eye out for Zacharie the items merchant. You can't miss him- he'll be wearing a crude mask resembling a frog's face and is guaranteed to be exactly where you need him.

I have just received a report that a large portion of the Sand Wastes...no longer exists. Instead, the area is now simply a stretch of endless white void. The only sound heard is a faint whispering, and the occasional muffled sound of a child crying. No sun shines in the endless white sky- in fact, there seems to be no time within the void at all. The place is empty and desolate and seemingly never-ending. So, not too different from how they were before. In fact, it is something of an improvement, as without the blistering heat of the midday sun and the pesky world government helicopters, the place is definitely a much safer place for children to play. Witnesses report that the last person to enter the Sand Wastes before its disappearance was the Batter, who has declined to comment on the situation.

A cat came into the studio today. Not, of course, the station's loyal hover-cat, who has yet to move from his location in the men's bathroom. This cat is small and white and grins from ear to ear. He is capable of human speech, and has proved very pleasant to talk to, though he claims he is radio shy and declined an interview. He says his name is 'the Judge', and that he has come to Night Vale looking for his dear brother Valerie. If anyone sees another white, smiling, talking cat, please contact us here at the station, so that we can pass the message onto the Judge.

A large section of the outer edges of town has turned to void, identical to the Sand Wastes. All the buildings remain as they are, but are now pure white inside and out, with stark shadows from an unknown light source. All the cars in the car lot have disappeared completely, as have all the people at the car lot. The sounds of whispers and a crying child can be heard throughout the area, consistent with the state of the Sand Wastes. The Batter was seen leaving the area, and this time only commented that it had been purified.

In other news, a new fad diet has taken off right here in town. The diet consists entirely of...sugar, eaten at all times of the day. Though no one has lost any weight from this diet, moods and productivity are through the roof! The only downside to the diet seems to be...stopping it, due to the severe withdrawal symptoms. Potential symptoms include: fatigue, cold sweats, paranoia, breathing black smoke, fever, all of your skin melting into chitinous black armor, sprouting claws, severe aggression, and mild nausea. If you should tire of the fantastic boosts provided by the sugar diet, consider easing yourself off gradually to prevent any accidents with friends or loved ones.

The purified zone, as many have taken to calling it, has steadily spread further into town. Many homes and buildings now lie entirely vacant of people and possessions, and there are some reports of some streets and avenues rearranging themselves without any apparent reasoning. Oh, sorry listeners, this is a bit unusual so late in the day, but it appears we have another unexpected guest. The Batter himself has graced us with his presence. He is moving with great purpose, and does not seem interested in addressing any of the interns or employees here. He appears to be...oh, my. He appears to be heading directly for the office of Station Management. No one has ever been into the office of Station Management.  
The door has always been locked, but that is apparently no object for the Batter. He's gone inside, and no sound is coming from within.  
The colors of the station walls appear to be pulsating and...are now beginning to drain away. The faintest of whispers can be heard if you listen hard enough. I think, perhaps...this is the end of tonight's broadcast.  
  
Goodnight, Night Vale. Goodnight.

**Author's Note:**

> Writing this was both immensely satisfying and not nearly as satisfying as I wanted it to be. There is a critical shortage of Carlos and the ending is extremely unsatisfying and for both of those things, I apologize.


End file.
